


Una Buena Idea

by atom2



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hair Dyeing, Language Barrier, Milwaukee Brewers, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 10:08:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14639619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atom2/pseuds/atom2
Summary: "...Lightening bleach. You sure this is safe?" Jesus looked back up at the both of them, his range of motion making his eyes land on Hernan."Yeah, it's fine. How do you think I got this?" Hernan ruffled his hair to indicate the blonde look similar to the one shown on the package. "And even if he doesn't like it, or it completely ruins his hair, we can just cut it off. It's not a permanent thing."





	Una Buena Idea

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW Orlando actually got his hair done at a barber. Let a guy dream. Rated teen because of swears and a brief mention of sex. I didn't know what to call this because?? It's just guys being dudes??
> 
> I did my best to research how to write Latin American characters to avoid stereotyping/misconceptions as much as possible. But I may have gotten something wrong. Please tell me if I did so I can improve!

Orlando loves his friends, but there was initially a little anxiety surrounding how he'd come about them when he first started. Though he considered himself a pretty approachable guy, _smooth_ , even, the language barrier that would be present when playing baseball in America psyched him out. While he understood he wouldn't be alone, he knew trying to chat with the white guys, the American guys, would be a challenge. He would always be looked down upon, a kid at the grown-ups table.

Turns out, it wasn't as bad as he thought. The knot in his stomach released when he found a multitude of languages being thrown across the clubhouse, like a ball in a game of catch. But he settled with the guys speaking what he knew. Eventually, Orlando mused, he'd like to do interviews without a translator by his side. He would listen intently to every English speaker from then on.

And, despite his eye-catching ability to turn a routine grounder into a highlight-reel play, it stayed that way. Everyone had their cliques, those they felt most comfortable sitting by at meetings and on the plane. He stayed with his band of Venezuelan teammates. Besides, it's not like he _didn't_ already know how to speak English. He was just afraid to, afraid of humiliation.

* * *

 

The little gang of three, Jesus, Hernan, and Orlando, decided to rent a house together in Phoenix. It was nice to know you weren't by yourself, nice to have two other guys that understood you. Hell, they were practically family, coming from the same country. Winter ball was also a catalyst.

Hernan established himself early as the mom friend. He tried to speak to Orlando in English, and always encouraged him to respond. Orlando tried to drive him up a wall by just responding in their native tongue, but Hernan always followed up with a "Now, say that in English." It frustrated Orlando, made him nervous, sometimes, but Hernan was more forgiving than any other person he'd talk to. He wasn't as judgemental as most native English speakers seemed to be. He didn't nitpick, he didn't laugh when he got something wrong. It was a cycle of correct, repeat, and encourage.

That bond, created by an adorable child and a passion for teaching English, made Orlando's decisions easily influenced by Hernan. Whether it be deciding to take an ice bath after a game, to set 5 instead of 4 alarms for the morning, or what he's going to have for breakfast. It didn't change when the time came for Orlando to get a new 'do.

Comfortably nestled in his spot in the middle of the couch, Jesus could hear the creak of the door opening and his two friends mid-conversation over the TV. He could also hear the rustling of a plastic grocery bag.

"¡Eh!" Orlando called, peering into his bag of goodies as Hernan shut the door behind them.

"Did you two have fun?" Jesus asked, looking over his shoulder to watch them walk into the living room.

"Yeah, we found the thing to spice up Orlando's hair." Hernan's gaze went from Jesus on the couch to Orlando standing in the middle of the room.

"His sex life too?" Jesus suggested. Hernan laughed out loud at that one, but Orlando only glared. Jesus had a good quip every now and then, but when they were at Orlando's expense? He couldn't let Jesus have the satisfaction.

"No, this." Orlando returned to his lighthearted state and smiled his goofy grin as he pulled out a box of DIY hair bleach, shaking it playfully. Jesus held up his hands as a way to say "toss it to me", and his request was fulfilled. He fixed his position and bent himself down to read the label.

"...Lightening bleach. You sure this is safe?" Jesus looked back up at the both of them, his range of motion making his eyes land on Hernan.

"Yeah, it's fine. How do you think I got this?" Hernan ruffled his hair to indicate the blonde look similar to the one shown on the package. "And even if he doesn't like it, or it completely ruins his hair, we can just cut it off. It's not a permanent thing."

"And you want to do this because he told you to?" Jesus directed his question at Orlando this time, who nodded and said,

"I think it's going to look fine. If _his_ ugly face can pull it off, I think I've got a good chance." Jesus and Hernan gave their respective ooh's.

"Anyway, I want to get started right away. This is supposed to take a long time." Orlando started toward the bathroom but stopped when he heard Hernan begin to speak.

"I, unfortunately, can't help you. I've got to FaceTime with my family, but I think Jesus would be willing to try." Hernan suggested.

"Yeah, _try_. Alright, come on Orlando, let's get your hair all fancied up." Jesus pushed himself up off of the couch and proceeded to follow Orlando into the bathroom.

Their bathroom was considerably spacious. The toilet was the first thing you saw when walking in, followed by the vanity. The shower was a few feet away. And, against one wall stood a shelf for towels and miscellaneous items. It was bare, save the few things that were placed there in preparation for their arrival. The room was nicely illuminated by the natural, early-afternoon light streaming through a large window, assisted by a row of mirror lights, and a small but powerful feature overhead.

Utilizing the expanse of counter space they had, Orlando placed the bag down and pulled out one cardboard box of the bleach he and Hernan had purchased at a drug store. He peered at the models on the front, then set it down on the counter.

"I got two, just in case the first one makes my hair orange. It's pretty dark, after all." Orlando checked back inside the bag, making sure he didn't miss anything. "Oh yeah, this too." he fished inside the bag and grabbed a candy bar, and blindly threw it at Jesus. Jesus slapped it down, and Orlando laughed while looking from the bar on the ground to Jesus' trademark disgruntled face. He bent down and retrieved the candy, placing it on the closed toilet lid.

Orlando went back to his various processes, opening the box he had previously placed on the counter and removing its contents. A squeeze bottle, a pair of gloves, a packet. And a huge fold-out set of directions. He looked at the sides of the box for guidance. Orlando squinted at the instructions, and he identified them as English.

"Can you read these?" he held out the box to Jesus. He was always better at reading than Orlando. But he quickly changed his mind, pulling the box away from Jesus' reach. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Español!"

He mumbled the directions in Spanish, glossing over the lines of text that only gave the self-explanatory details. He just read the ones that seemed most pertinent to the both of them. "Leave in for no more than 45 minutes. Wait an hour before applying again."

Orlando looked to Jesus, who just nodded, and then concentrated back on what he was doing. He slipped the gloves on his hands, flexing his fingers for extra effect. He then grabbed the bottle and proceeded to do what was instructed, narrating his actions.

"It said to take the tip off," Orlando said, struggling against the hard plastic. He looked up and around for a pair of scissors, anything to make this an easier task.

Jesus stepped around Orlando to the other side of the sink and examined the small, rack-like shelf placed just to the right. After sifting through the cluster of things that had accumulated on the top level, he found a small pair of scissors. He held them out just as Orlando started to see if his teeth would get the job done.

"Not your teeth, dumbass!" Orlando gave Jesus a quick smile through the plastic in his mouth. He stopped struggling with the bottle and took the scissors from Jesus. With a couple tries, the nib was off, and they could continue.

"Okay," Orlando proceeded, slipping the gloves back on (he had taken them off during the previous struggle). He uncapped the bottle and set it back down. He took the packet, snipped open the top, and peeked at the powder inside.

"It's blue?" he gave a light shrug and poured the contents into the bottle. By then, Jesus had already taken his original position, just to the left of the vanity. Orlando twisted the nozzle back on the bottle, covered the hole at the top with his index finger, and shook it up and down.

"Two minutes." Orlando looked to Jesus, who stood there awkwardly for a few seconds before asking, "Don't I need gloves too?"

"Right, um," the soon-to-be blonde pushed open the plastic bag on the counter yet again, and with one hand, lifted the second box out. He opened the top, reached inside, and felt around for the second pair of gloves. Once retrieved, he handed them to Jesus, who put them on.

When the time was up, Orlando inspected the bottle. Once it was approved, he put it on the edge of the counter closest to Jesus. He motioned towards it, giving the go-ahead. Jesus picked up the bottle, but he hesitated.

"Where do you want it?" he looked around Orlando's head.

"Just uh," he indicated the layer of long hair that had been growing on the top of his head. It was accentuated by the cut around the sides he got earlier that week. "Right here. I don't know if it'll affect the hair underneath, but I don't mind."

Jesus took that into account and asked Orlando to hold it separate. Because of their heights, he had to make Orlando squat down a little, so he could get a better angle. Orlando smiled and looked at what Jesus was doing in the mirror. He squeezed a bit of the solution into his hand and began to work it into Orlando's hair, going down to just a little above the root.

Jesus continued to use more and more until he was satisfied with his work. He set the chunk of hair back down on Orlando's head and stripped off the vinyl gloves, placing them on the counter. Orlando looked up at him, and once he got the hint he was done, got out of his squatting position.

He inspected Jesus' job, brushing up a little. "I think it said you're supposed to put plastic wrap on it."

"Oh." Jesus said, "I don't think we have any."

"No big deal." Orlando shrugged, looking back at his reflection in the mirror. "So, 45 minutes?"

* * *

 

The timer on Orlando's phone rang, startling him. After Hernan's quick catch-up with his wife, Johanna, and son, Christopher, the three of them were watching mindless sports.

Orlando turned his phone off and made his way to the shower, taking the time to check on his hair in the mirror. He could tell that it was definitely lighter, but he couldn't make out if the bleach had made it the blonde he set out for. He put himself to work, following his standard showering procedure. Back facing the water, rinsing out his hair. He wondered if he should use shampoo, but decided against it, thinking it could mess with the effect.

He dried off, got dressed, and took a look in the mirror. Some parts, like the ends, were lighter. But for the most part, Orlando's hair took on a brassy orange. Not even close to what Hernan's looked like.

"Jesus," he called, still studying himself in the mirror. He didn't continue until he heard heavy footsteps making their way to the bathroom. "I think we're going to have to do this again."

Jesus arrived in the doorway, and he snickered at Orlando's unexpected results. "Not blonde?" Jesus asked, picking on him.

"Obviously not. Could you help me again?" Orlando turned his head to make eye contact with Jesus.

"Of course."

* * *

 

After the second round of bleaching, waiting, and rinsing, Orlando was getting antsy. But, with his quick glances in the mirror, he knew he had achieved his goal. This time he dried his hair _after_ dressing, looking in the mirror at his messy, almost curly, hair. Ruffling it around a bit with the towel, he decided he liked it.

Hearing the noise Orlando was making, Jesus knocked on the door, but let himself in. His friend's attention, however, was diverted by his new hair.

"Te ves bien," Jesus said, and Orlando hummed in agreement.

"The second time really worked," he brushed a few strands into place. "We should show Hernan."

When Hernan saw, he laughed, but not to make fun. Orlando hopped over the back of the couch and into the empty space next to him.

"Now we match," Hernan observed.

"We do, and we both look pretty good. Maybe I should take after you more often." Orlando started to settle in, crossing his arms and looking towards the TV.

Hernan had only one thing to say to that:

"Now, say that in English."


End file.
